He Needs No Army
by QwertyViolinist
Summary: 'Not knowing means I can at least pretend that summer is still here.' Panic! At the Disco. First-Person; Ryan's P.O.V. Story may trigger in later chapters, you have been warned.
1. Prologue

Breathing.

Its a simple human function. A need; something we cannot survive without. It's a process of exchanging carbon dioxide and oxygen.  
In.  
Out.  
A slow release; simple yet compulsory.

I bring my lips to the rim of the coffee mug, inhaling the bitter smell as it wakens my senses. It's two forty three in the afternoon and I have just woken up from what seemed like an endless slumber. I really thought I'd gone this time- but then I woke up, and that proved me all wrong once again. I place the china mug down, a small ring in my ears to confirm that it has most definitely been placed on the surface of the table as I stand to my feet. My legs go weak and I stumble, my hand reaching out and grasping onto the side of the table to keep me balanced.

Am I dead yet?

I drag my feet across the wooden floors, a strange yet satisfying feeling running under my toes as I make my way towards the bedroom. It's messy, but I like it. Plus, I'm in my twenties now- no one has the right to tell me what to do. I rummage through the wooden chests, pulling out scrunched up clothes that smell rotten. Sure, I can work the washing machine and clothes line; I just haven't had the time to indulge in luxuries such as fresh clothes. I don't have anyone to impress anyways, so why make an effort? The only person I ever wanted to impress I drove away. It doesn't matter- I don't matter.

I wash and dress, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I pass by. Stubble has begun to seep through the pours in my skin, dark bags shadowing the underneath of my eyes and my skin almost a creamy yellow. I look like Death itself, just with a _little _more flesh.

Ever since they told me, I've felt a heavy pain in my chest, a lump in my throat and worries have clouded my mind. Words. That was all it took to make me realise that there really is no turning back.

Yeah, I had it all coming.


	2. Chapter 1

"You joining us, Ry?"

"Yeah, sure. Just, uh, just gimme a sec."

A huff emits from Brendon's lips, causing me to roll my eyes, "What are you up to over there?"

"Nothing. Just checking my phone…" I pause, feeling all eyes wandering to my direction,"-for the time."

Half-hearted chuckles fill the room, making me feel slightly uncomfortable. Can't a man go about his own business without being questioned? This is a recording studio, not a police station.

"Ryan, there's a clock on almost every wall." I sigh, shaking off the comment and placing all my attention on the screen. I begin to read the awaiting text message; 'Ryan, it's not good news,'

"Just go back to what you guys were doing-"

'We need to call you back in. Let us know when you are free next as soon as possible.'

"It sounds great so far." Manages to slip through my lips as I finish the insanely short message. Something's wrong. This check up has escalated into something completely different. I can feel my hands shaking, my pulse now hard to ignore within my throat. I need to breathe; calm, just stay calm Ryan. You don't know what it is yet. You're going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine.

I turn on my heels, drawing my attention back to the small gathering around the coffee table. Brendon is kneeling on the floor, pen in hand and eyes down at the paper, his lips moving to the written words. Jon and Spencer are sat either side of him, peering over to watch Brendon give the lyrics another once-over. "I think we need an up-beat sorta thing going on here…" Brendon mutters, pointing to the paper, "I mean, it's a pretty happy-ish song…talking about memories and love." Spencer and Jon nod in unison, looking up at Brendon who is also nodding his head, but to some sort of beat in his mind.

I smile at the three of them, moving a little closer, "Duh-duh-duh-duh…" They glance up at me as if I'm mad, but Brendon soon catches on, a smile spreading across his features.

"Yeah! Something like that." He glances down at my scrawled lyrics as I continue to voice the beat I had in mind, his own voice now singing the lyrics to accompany my tune, "Back to the street where we began, feeling as good as lovers can, you know- yeah we're feeling so good!" We stop, staring at each other with grins that hardly fit onto our faces. Spencer and Jon are now joining in the grinning fest, nodding in approval.

"You guys got the basic idea?" I ask, eyeing the bassist and drummer. They nod once again and I start to wonder if their voices are trapped in their throats or something. Yet, like most things, I shrug it off and turn back to Brendon, "So, that's sorted then!" The brunette male just smiles before looking back down at the lyrics, humming the little melody as he scans over the words once more.

One song down. A shit load to go.

That's okay though; I enjoy writing and creating songs with the guys. We have a laugh and we don't question our crazy thoughts. We're all on the same wave length- almost. But, it works, and boy am I glad it does. My eyes drop down to my hands that are fiddling with my cell, a frown washing over my features. 'I should text him back…' I tell myself over and over again, staring down at the device as if it were with-holding secrets from me. And, well, in ways, it is. My grip tightens, my knuckles now turning a mixture of white and red under my pale skin as I begin to notice how tense the rest of my body is. Surely the other's have noticed. I glance up at them quickly before looking back down at my phone.

Yup, they're staring.

"You alright, Ryan?" Jon asks, well, at least he's found his voice again. Now just to worry about Spencer…

"Yeah, you don't seem yourself today." Brendon adds, watching me with worry filling his eyes.

I shrug and nod, looking back up at them, "I'm fine. Didn't sleep all that well last night, that's all." Spencer shoots me the warning glance, the one that tells me to stay the fuck there. I swallow and watch the three, a wobbling smile on my features, "You guys worry too much. I'm okay."

—-

Our music session stops quicker than I'd thought, and once the clock struck ten o clock, everyone was saying goodbye to each other. "Tomorrow then?" Brendon asks us all, his brown eyes wider than usual; it was his puppy dog look, one that I'm sure he knows works on everyone. Me, Jon and Spencer nod helplessly and I just know that Brendon fistpumps in his mind once we agree. "Awesome! I'll see you guys tomorrow," He pauses, eyes landing and locking with mine, "And Ry, try not to do any more collapsing anytime soon." With a sharp smile, he makes his way out of the building, Jon following not too far behind as he waves us a goodbye.

It's just me and Spencer now.

"How'd it go?" His voice is quiet, low, intimidating, but it makes me feel comfortable for a reason I cannot begin to fathom.

"How did what go?" I ask with a curious tone, brow raising. I wish I could look at Spencer, but my eyes dart in different directions. I was worried, he was worried. Not a good combination.

Spencer simply sighed at my response, I was a little unsure on what he meant, so my words weren't just to buy me more time to gather up some lies up in my head. A number of things had happened recently, all of which Spencer could have been asking about. Yet, I know in the back of my head that really, he was asking about the incident last week.

"Ryan," He started, shifting his body weight from his left foot to his right, "Look, I just want to know if you're okay. You scared us all on Thursday." An eerie silence falls between us, taking Spencer a few minutes of lip licking and worried gazes to speak again, "Have the doctor's contacted you?"

I almost curl into myself at his question. I don't want to answer, I don't want him to worry as much as I'm worrying every second of my life about this. "Yes." I muttered under my breath, "Three days ago. They want me to go in as soon as possible."

With my words, and much expected too, Spencer's face falls. "Three days ago? And you haven't gone back yet? Why?" I shake my head, a small shrug of my shoulders accompanying it as if to say I don't know. Spencer catches on to my body language and he takes a few steps toward the door, "Right, well, I'm here when you need me, Ry, always have been and always will be. Text them back, arrange an appointment and I'll talk to you tomorrow." He throws a small smile at me, something I can't help but smile back to, "Sleep well."

I wave my hand as Spencer leaves. It's just me, myself and I in the studio now. I sit down at the table and scrawl more lyrics onto one of the many pieces of scrap paper whose purpose is for the exact thing I'm doing. I loose myself in lyrics and thoughts and by midnight, I'm stumbling out of the studio with all my things and fresh lyrics in my coat pocket.

I think about today, about how I'd lied to Spencer about not knowing why I hadn't gone back to the doctor's because I know exactly why I haven't gone back. I want to be as happy as I can whilst I'm in the dark about everything. Sure, there is a large shadow of curiosity casting over my form, one of which everyone has noticed, but that text message said that it wasn't good news. I'm going to go through hell as soon as I walk back into that doctor's surgery, I can feel it in the marrow of my bones and I hate it.

Not knowing means I can at least_ pretend_ that summer is still here.


End file.
